Every Night Has A Morning After
by Beyond The Mat
Summary: The morning after Ted DiBiase and Miranda's explosive night in our story "A Little Vindictiveness: Behind Closed Doors". We weren't going to publish it, but the numbers in the stats require that we do. Reviews are welcome, some words to go with the #s.


**Published September 2011; A partial follow-up of Ted and Miranda DiBiase's explosive story ("A Little Vindictiveness: Behind Closed Doors") is offered here. This will not be updated with any rhyme, nor reason, as the characters and writers are taking their time with it, not rushing anything. However, this is how they've proceeded thus far.**

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><p>After what could best be described in PG terms as an "exhausting meeting", Miranda and Ted lay in the bedroom of the Tampa rental. Ted was wide awake, Miranda awake but not as alert. Her listening skills were sharp enough, though, so if he had something to say, he wouldn't have to worry about being answered with faint, gentle snoring.<p>

Well, not yet anyway. But make no mistake she was going to sleep, and sleep hard. Ted might be the one who has to call Stamford and say she's got to take a few sick days, using his creative bullshit skills into spinning an excuse for her. Bad cold? Flu? Whatever, but she's going to need a long weekend after what went down.

She knows he has to work and he's always been careful about calling out of shows. If he *opts* to call out for one and stay to talk, fine. Any more than one, they might argue, because she's not about to have him feeling like he's obligated to hang around while she does little more than rest (and probably curse him and herself out for feeling like she got hit by a truck, hehe). The nature of his job is to travel. So he's not under any pressure to call out just because she's taking a few days off to recover.

If he doesn't call out, he'll have to leave by noon tomorrow so he can make the next show on time. That gives them some time to talk, maybe even get some sleep, whether together or separate. She's comfortable right now in his arms but if he wants to leave, it's not like he can't move her himself and pull the blanket over her.

No expectations, no demands, no nothing. Just willing ears and a desire on Miranda's part to *not* be the first one to speak. Let him speak instead.

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><p>"So, where are we at. I really don't know where to go from this."<p>

Too bad for Miranda that Ted was generally awkward in this situation. He didn't expect that. He didn't expect her to be so willing to what happen. He didn't expect them to be laying next to each other ever again. And should any of that happen, he NEVER thought that they'd be there the following day to talk about all of it.

This was fucking insane.

He couldn't take time off. He wouldn't. Not with this damn push he was having now. This was his first official time as a face in a loooong time, and it would generally easy to grow and connect with fans with it. He'd probably end up being Smackdown's Alex Riley or something, but that was only if he attended, and not suddenly pulling himself out of the show for no reason.

He should be spiteful and bring her along, make her walk all funny, so everyone could see the damage he'd done. Yeah. He was that masterful.

Well, no. But he'd let her stay here. Gather herself, and yes he'd handle the work issue for her. He owed her that much, he figured.

Maybe it was a flash of their old times together. Or maybe it was the fantasy they wanted together, or that they lived in for a few weeks. Either way, this would take both of them, so stop waiting to say something and help out here.

He didn't have a problem moving on, but he knew she'd be a part of his life regardless. He could honestly say he didn't want things on a negative note, but again, was all up to her.

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><p>He asked her where they were at. Oh, how easy it would've been to give him a smartass answer, like "where we were when you pounded the sh.." nevermind. No. Because with her luck that would set off a Round Two that she wasn't able to handle.<p>

But it was so much easier to communicate *that* way sometimes. But there was just no way to go another round. Words had to be used. She could almost hear a cringe in his voice, an awkwardness hidden in the tone of his voice that gave just a little waver in his words, a waver that probably anybody else would chalk up to exhaustion, but she knew him better than that.

She still had no regrets over what they'd just done. He'd practically demolished her, and she lay there willingly in his arms. And even though emotions could be lethal, she did feel a gentleness toward him, that awkwardness of his bringing out a little reassurance from her to him.

"I don't know either, but I don't mind trying to find out, if you're willing. If you're not..well, no regrets."

Well, that was bullshit. Of *course* she'd have regrets. The same regrets she'd had that led to the need for them to do what they'd done to build within her to volcanic levels again, the would've-could've-should've haunting her again.

"Ted...I mean no regrets for what just happened. Of course I regret that things went bad. But you're not under any..obligation...to try to work things out with me just because I could handle what you just did."

Her chuckle might've been almost inaudible if she wasn't so close and if her fingertips didn't gently stroke his chest as she said it. The 'what you just did' was a little bit of a tease, a joke, kicking back to a private joke they used to share, where 'blame' would be assigned to who started something sexual. Who started the teasing. Who initiated. Because the one who *did* start it would generally blame the other. "You're tired? Well, that's your own fault..since you couldn't handle it," would've been said with a grin. The grin was something that took too much exertion right now so hopefully the peacefulness in her demeanor (okay, maybe there was some awkwardness, too, but the reassurance should've outweighed it a little) eased his concerns a little.

"This feels really good..being here with you..but I'm not delusional." The chuckle was long gone and replaced by a quiet, serious tone that he'd notice came with as the stroking of her fingertips stopped and she was now curling up alongside him a little more, her arms crossing her own chest and not going into a fetal position per se, but her body language had gone in a transition from exhausted affection to some self-preservation. It was a subconscious thing on her part, but he was good at reading body language. It was part of his job.

"I'm not going to do things again the way we did them. Things would have to change. If you're not done fuckin' around, then, well, let's just say we had a good night, and leave it at that."

And to be honest, this was the part where she expected him to kiss her forehead and say ok, see ya, and she was actually emotionally bracing herself for it. She ended up on her side, laying beside him, arms across her chest, covering her breasts, head tucked slightly as her cheek rested on his tricep and she was more or less speaking into his armpit/ribcage.

She loved him but she couldn't be his doormat anymore. Their chemistry was undeniable. They had a lot going for them if they'd both try to do things the way...well, the way most people who want to be married try to do things. Like..not fucking people outside the marriage.

Or maybe not doing it so openly..NO. Not doing it at all. Keeping it between them.

"If I'm not enough for you, you owe it to me to tell me that. And we won't kid each other into thinking it's more. I love you. I'll always be your friend. But I can't just be the reliable lay and a blow job who happens to bear your name."

Blunt? Maybe. But said softly. Words not spat in anger. Just said quietly. She may or may not have had a waver in her own tone, but her throat was hoarse as it is. But yeah, that took courage to say. Her eyes were closed, because to be quite honest, she couldn't bear to watch him leave if that's what he was going to do next. If he did, she'd obviously feel him move from her side and the mattress of course would shift...but she didn't have to watch. So she just laid there. Part of her hoped he'd fallen asleep and not heard a word of it. She probably said too much. But it was too late to *not* say what she'd said, and she can't *unsay* things, and there was really nothing she could've phrased differently.

So it was what it was. Hopefully, he'd be as forthright with her as she was with him.


End file.
